TO DIE FOR

DISCLAIMER – I don't own anyone or anything you recognise as JK Rowlings.

SUMMARY – A very dark fic from SS pov.

In retrospect, it was easy for him to say that it should have occurred to them sooner, that this obvious weakness on their front should have been more apparent to at least one member of the Order. Even still, the sentiment was correct and now they could hardly bring themselves to admit how naive they had been in their appraisal. They really should have acknowledged that she was perhaps their weakest spot of all.

There were few individuals who played such a major role in both the organisation and in the school, even if both of these were secondary, supporting positions. There were few whom nobody would question having free access to the Gryffindor Tower or whom the staff had all come to acknowledge, could often be found in the Headmasters room in heated discussion with the man himself in the small hours of the morning. But now, now they could hardly not believe that she may well have been their own downfall. That because of their vast miscalculation, the dark had won perhaps the biggest battle they had yet fought.

Serverus had been the one to find her that morning, as the sun had just begun inching over the horizon. He had been woken by a panicked, hysterical knocking on the door of his quarters and muffled, plaintive cries pleading with him to open up. He had been greeted not by two of his own, but by two of hers, and this immediately surprised him. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan had both begun to speak at once, neither making much sense on their own, and even less together. But even still he had managed to pick up a few words and they were enough to have him running down the corridor, the two younger boys following behind as the robe he had hastily donned flapped in his wake.

He climbed stairs three at a time, his instincts taking him to an entrance he wasn't even officially supposed to know the location of. He entered the common room and did not slow down despite the number of pale, tear stained faces that looked up to see his entrance. He didn't slow until he reached the open door to the sixth year boy's dorm. He could hear muffled crying and a soft struggling that was explained as soon as he entered. Off to one side, Remus Lupin stood holding Ronald Weasley close to his chest, as the redhead seemed to thrash uncontrollably within the tight embrace. The werewolf's eyes rose to meet his own before glancing to the bed at the far side of the room.

The curtains had been roughly drawn apart, and its inhabitant plain for all to see in his unnatural stillness. His blood soaked the sheets, dripping down onto the floor below, his life force pooling on the cold stone. A cursory examination of the wound to his throat told him that the blade used had been sharp, the cut deep enough that there would have been no time for the boy-who-had-lived to call for help. After a moment Lupin offered the information that Fillius Flitwick had already been and gone to try and secure the school and inform the Headmaster of what had occurred.

In a brief moment of insight one of the students voluntarily informed the Potions Master that Longbottom had gone to fetch their own Head of House as soon as the body had been found but had yet to return. If his suspicions had not already been roused they certainly would have been by this piece of information and it was also clear to see that Lupin felt the same. At a stretch he could have believed that the Headmaster had yet to arrive at the scene but he knew the Head of Gryffindor well enough to say that she would have been there as soon as she was told of what had happened, and after all her quarters were less than a minute away from the entrance to the common room. Something didn't ring true.

The paranoid section of his personality kicked in at this point and he acknowledged that the perpetrator of this crime could well still be in the area. Logic told him that the boy had obviously been dead for some time now, that this was unlikely, but nevertheless not a risk worth taking. He had suggested that the others all retreat downstairs to the common room and take the precaution of sealing the portrait hole after he left. He intended to locate the missing Longbottom and hopefully solve the other oddities at the same time. When the two almost collided coming around the corner Serverus was pleasantly surprised to find him relatively coherent, understandably shaken by events but certainly no more incomprehensible than usual. He confirmed that though he had tried everywhere he could think of, he had failed to find the Transfiguration professor and admitted to having been on his way to the Headmaster's office.

Snape would have sent him back to the tower but getting in would most likely have proved nigh on impossible, so reluctantly he had the boy follow him. With their wands drawn they approached the gargoyle marking the entrance to the Headmaster's public and private rooms, and narrowly avoided blasting the Charms instructor to smithereens. There had been a moment's hesitation on both the Professors parts as they contemplated what their next move ought to be. Never one to wait for others, Serverus had requested that Flitwick take Neville and go send an owl to the Ministry informing them of the situation, or at least as much of it as they knew. After only a brief opposition to leaving him on his own, they had gone and after taking a deep breath he had headed up the spiral stairs with which he had become well acquainted over the years.

After taking the time to try and listen for any sound coming from the room inside and failing, he threw open the study door. With his wand still outstretched he swept the outer room, quickly finding it empty and silent apart from the constant whirring and occasional squeaking of the various instruments that littered every surface. The only light came from the rising sun falling through the lead latticed windows and the door laying ajar at the far end of the room. From experience, he knew that this was the entrance to Dumbledore's sanctum and slowly approached, continuing to ensure that he was covered from attack.

The sight that met his eyes shocked him more than he could say. He let his wand hand fall to his side and couldn't help but stand aghast as his mind tried to comprehend what it was that he was seeing. Lying there in his ridiculous maroon and gold dressing gown, glasses askew and throat decisively slit was Albus Dumbledore. The Potions Master had been in no doubt that the man was dead; the quantity of blood staining the flagstones beneath him was more than enough proof of that. It wasn't until a slight noise caught his attention though, that his mind seemed to snap out of whatever mist had descended across his higher brain functions. It had come from the far corner, where the flickering torchlight did not seem to dare invade the deep shadows. Automatically, he had lifted his wand and pressed his back up against the wall, cursing himself for having let his guard down. He stood still not daring to move a muscle for a minute but when he took the chance to listen to whomever or whatever it was that was hiding from the light, he managed to make out far more than before.

"He's dead…He's gone… I killed him…" Repeated over and over in a barely audible, hysterical voice that he had instantly recognised. Moving forward slowly he had muttered 'Lumos' with enough control that he managed to increase the level of light his wand emitted slowly so as not to shock anyone. Even when he was close enough to see her, she did not seem to acknowledge his presence at all but continued to rock back and forth where she was crouching in the corner and stare into the middle distance. He hung back, wary of her possible actions, and watched for a moment this creature that held so little resemblance to the woman he knew. Her eyes were wide, rimmed with heavy charcoal smudges and waxen skin seemed taught across her prominent cheekbones. She wore the Victorian style dress similar to those he knew she wore under her teaching robes but there were no glasses and her hair was partially fallen from its restraints. This was a shadow before him now.

"Minerva?" He asked quietly. She looked towards him with a jerk of the head that seemed to crack the veneer thin façade that remained around her.

"Serverus?" His name no more than a whisper. He nodded and moved forward, lowering himself to his knees so that he was on the same level as she. She glanced up at him, and then cast her eyes back to her lap. After a moment's hesitation she lifted them in to the light. Years of repressing his emotions was the only thing that prevented his shock from being written as clear as day upon his face. The ivory skin was dyed red, the blood still dripping down her forearms and perhaps more ominously the razor sharp knife she held clamped in her grip. Meeting his eyes she repeated her mantra one last time. "He's dead…He's gone… I killed him!" At her final proclamation the walls had fallen and the dam had broken. He held her as she fell into his embrace, sobbing so hard he wondered that she could breathe. He had pulled her close and done the only thing he could, waited for the authorities to arrive.

He had had no doubt from the moment he had seen the two boys in front of his door, pale and shaken, that there was going to be more to this evening's events than first met the eye. Even as he sat on the stone-cold floor and the first rays of sunshine began to fall on his back, he knew in his heart that Minerva McGonagall could not be held responsible for these crimes even though it seemed certain she had committed them. It just didn't make sense; if she had genuinely wanted to strike at the heart of the Order, or even if she had finally snapped under the pressure of always being the one everyone else relied on, he would not have been alive. The role he played would become even more crucial after the deaths of the other two. If whoever was to blame had been aware of it at all he was certain there would have been three deaths that night.

As the prime suspect in a double homicide to which there would have to be answers, she had been taken into the custody of the Ministry as soon as their officials had arrived and the fact that she offered no protest to this did not help her case. Serverus had been a little concerned that there would be little chance of him convincing the authorities, or perhaps even the Order of her innocence, or at least that there would not be a thorough investigation, but it turned out that his worries were unfounded.

Both groups' discoveries backed each other up impeccably, even if they would haunt many people for many years. It seemed that there were twelve hours the previous weekend when no-one could account for the Deputies whereabouts. She had set out to meet the other members of staff at the Three Broomsticks at about one in the afternoon on Saturday and never arrived. As the plans had never been solidified none of them had questioned her absence – they assumed that she had been held up. She had been at breakfast the next morning and nothing had seemed out of place, there was no reason for them to realise that something had happened.

The research done after the facts all pointed to a strong imperious curse having been cast upon her and these, along with the remnants of quite a physical beating lead the Wizengamot quickly deciding that there was little point in pursuing this shell of a woman any further. Even though they had failed to find the true perpetrator, the one who had cast the unforgivable, she had been acquitted of all crimes. Convincing Minerva of her own innocence had been a far harder task. She had been held in one of the sealed wards in St Mungo's before and during the trial, and even when it was completed it was plain to see she was in no fit state to be released.

With a lot of hard work and effort on the part of many of the remaining members of the Order she did improve with time though. She would never be fit to teach but she could function from day to day until, in his usual style, Cornelius Fudge intervened. For some reason or other the Minister had decided to visit the Hospital, but apparently he had not felt comfortable being in the same building as the former Deputy Headmistress and had had Dementors posted outside her door. Serverus had arrived after receiving a rather panicked call from one of the medi-wizards, to find her curled in a corner of her room, rocking back and forth repeating over and over again,

"They're dead…They're gone… I killed them."

He had done the only thing he could at the time, he held her as she fell into his embrace, sobbing so hard he again wondered that she could breathe. And all the while he cursed Fudge and he cursed the force trying to envelope their world, which had already, in one blow extinguished three of the brightest lights they had.

A/N: Ummmm what can I say – I was in a very strange mood when I wrote this (what has become known as the 'depressing fic' grin) Thanks go to Maria – my wonderful beta and I would implore you all to review – because well….I like it when you do grin Thanks for reading. xLx